


Pushpanjali

by CarminaVulcana



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Manoharis, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 10:38:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20044609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarminaVulcana/pseuds/CarminaVulcana
Summary: Many lives were changed by Amarendra Baahubali. But we only heard of his wife and child. What about those we never saw later? This is the story of a dancer he once knew.





	Pushpanjali

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/gifts), [MayavanavihariniHarini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayavanavihariniHarini/gifts), [arpita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arpita/gifts), [Medhasree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medhasree/gifts), [Golden_Daughter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golden_Daughter/gifts).

Tara Devi took out her anklets after over two decades. They were dusty and and their coppery sheen had dulled a little.

But the metal bells jingled merrily as ever when she gave them a gentle shake.

She had not gained a lot of weight in all this time, but she still thought it a good idea to try them on. She didn’t think she’d need a new pair. But one could never be too sure.

She tied the left one first. It fit perfectly.

The right one was just a touch tighter than she liked. But it would do.

No one who knew her all those years ago, would recognize her now.

Her long, dark hair was now cropped short with streaks of grey in it. She wore no kohl around her eyes. And her attire was plain, in accordance with the custom of her hermitage.

But tonight, that would change.

She called a younger ascetic and asked her to fetch a few things from the market.

Malti, all of 16, was scandalized.

“Alta? kumkum? Amma, what are you planning to do?”

The old dancer smiled.

“My penance is over. I am leaving.”

“Leaving? How can your penance be over? Our penance is never over.”

“But mine is. Don’t ask so many questions. Just bring me what I need.”

Malti thought the old woman had lost her mind. But she humored her anyway.

While she was gone, Tara Devi strolled into the flower garden and picked out a small bunch of jasmines, a few marigolds, and a single red rose.

Over the next few hours, she bathed and cleansed herself, muttering prayers to Mahadev and to all the deities in heaven, who had preserved her through the years.

In the evening, she exchanged her saffron robe for a shiny red saree and her old ornaments.

_“The old woman has gone mad,”_

_“Has she no shame?”_

_“What does she think she is doing?”_

The other women in the hermitage could neither fathom nor support her decision. But she did not bother and did not explain herself. Her meager belongings were bundled up unceremoniously and thrown away the moment she stepped out of the sacred boundary of the sanctuary. 

Alone, she made her way to the Mahishmati palace.

But once she reached the gates, her resolve weakened.

No one knew who she was. No one knew her connection to Amarendra Baahubali.

Her feet backed away on their own as uncertainty gripped her heart. But unbidden, his smiling face swam in front of her eyes.

_“There is no shame in your art. The only shame is of those who choose to objectify you and use you for themselves.”_

Emboldened by the memory of his words, she retraced her steps back to the gates of the palace.

As expected, the guards stopped her.

“Who are you?”

She craned her neck and looked him straight in the eye.

“I am an old friend of Maharaj Amarendra Baahubali, from Singhapuram. I have come to welcome his family back home.”

Later that night, Tara Devi danced again after 25 long years. Her feet hurt but she rejoiced for the pain. Her movements were nowhere as fluid as they had once been, but she felt liberated.

She danced in joy. And she pulled the new Rajmata and her would-be daughter-in-law onto the dance floor as well.

The man who had restored her dignity to her was here in spirit while his flesh and blood presided over the celebration. He was Baahubali, the guardian of hope and mercy.

And she was Tara Devi, the artiste, not an unnamed manohari.


End file.
